Resolution
by MewxRetasu
Summary: [Sasuke piece] He pities them and envies them. He pities them because they do not know him. And he envies them because they do not know him.


_The photograph is old and faded and kind of yellowing, _he idly thinks while gently stroking his finger along the slightly dusty edge of the picture frame. A soft looking line in the dust reveals a slightly clear amber color, that color of wood that has been carefully tended to and polished painstakingly, and then that attention is suddenly taken away.

Which is what it is.

It hasn't been taken care of for a while-- he's been training too much, but Sensei (is that man even worthy of that title, what with his disorganization and untidiness and certain _other traits_, he wonders) has finally given the team a day off.

Speaking of organization, he likes it.

Usually.

He keeps the empty house doggedly clean, no matter how long he's been training or how annoyed he gets at those so-called self-proclaimed "lovers" or how hard that last mission was, except for that one corner. It is in that corner that he keeps every red, white, or dark blue album. Each has golden-set print and glossy pages filled with scenes from his past life.

"Sasuke 10-12 Eating Ice Cream" or "Itachi 6-21 Throws First Shuriken" and even the painful "Itachi and Sasuke 9-3 Graduation for Itachi and A New Start for Sasuke." Every week, he flips through at least one of these books because, contrary to popular belief, he does not want to forget. He does not want to forget love and happiness and warmth and feeling.

Sure, he can't show his feelings now, for fear of teasing or hurt-- but he doesn't want to forget. Those fragments are what keeps him together now. Those rosy red fragments, warm fires and velvety night skies.

In his past life his favorite season was fall. Spring was too pink and green and happy and a bit itchy (in addition to the scratchiness, freshly-cut grass also seemed to attract overly painful-stinging, happy bees), and summer was fun, but too hot and sweaty and sticky, making him feel like he was being smothered. It was not winter, like it was now (but he'd never let anyone know his favorite season, _never never,_) although even back then he had appreciated the beauty of an untouched snowy patch; a new start. But fall, before, had been by far the best. It was a bit nippy outside, but nothing was quite dead, yet. The trees were dying, true, but dying in elegance, proudly sporting stunning foliage in red and green and gold, but as Robert Frost's words: "_Nothing gold can stay;_"

and they managed to keep their style, somehow, as the leaves lightly touched down on the ground.

He had liked it before. He still did. Winter seemed more appropriate as a life symbol, though. Coldness, deadness, darkness. He--

_Oh, _he mumbled to himself, _enough with that already._

_...I need a new box of tissues. I have run out._

_...Perhaps I can go now...?_

He tucked 50 ryo into his pocket, slipped on a jacket, and set out.

xXxXx

_Kuso!, _Sasuke shrilly screams at the shamelessly flirting girl. _Just leave me to buy the freakin' tissues in peace!_

...In his mind.

Jogging to the checkout counter, he tried to look inconspicuous, and managed to arrive at the express lane unharmed. He breathed a sigh of relief to see that the cashier was a married man, not a rabid, single fangirl.

While Mr. Yamamoto, who was an easygoing, friendly male, keyed in some information and figures that appeared to have prevented the transaction, Sasuke looked around quietly. He had finally thought to pull up his hood, which he had dismissed as a ridiculous notion at first (wouldn't that attract more attention?) but seemed to work fairly well at keeping females away, covering his well-known hair, which was his main identifier.

He saw crowds of pleasant people, shopping in peace... some just civilians and other Jounins, Chuunins, even Academy students running errands for busy parents or just fooling around.

He suddenly had a strange feeling.

He feels hollow, unlike his usual cold, stoic, ice-filled self. He pities them. He pities those crowds of people. He pities them and envies them. He pities them because they do not know him. And he envies them because they do not know him.

He does not know himself.

What could he have been without that tragedy in his past?

He knows he could have been a fuller person, more warm, more open. Who is he now? Those crowds-- they say he's a handsome, smart boy who's reached the epitome of prefectioni, like-- what's he called? that genius Hyuuga Neji, only not bitter like him (they say). They say he's any girl's dream.

They know only the good and positive of him, which is good... and bad.

He doesn't agree with them.

When he looks at himself he sees only the empty spaces-- every crevice or crack in a "perfect" sphere.

If he suddenly shows a spark of inviting, finally shows his good side, a pearl, he always messes up and closes himself back up in his beautiful, hard shell.

_Who am I..._

_Would Mama and Papa like this in me. ...Would they? How did they want me to grow up?..._

"Uchiha-san?"

His head jerks up in surprise, and he blinks. "Eh-- n-nani?"

He did **not **just say "eh." How unrefined. And had he stuttered?

"Ah, Uchiha-san, I have fixed the error, sorry to keep you waiting--"

He wordlessly hands Mr. Yamamoto his money, lifts his box of tissues from the counter.

"Thank you, Uchiha-san, have a nice day--"

But he is already off, running.

xXxXx

An hour later, in the evening, he has decided.

He has made a resolution, to the photographs he treasures so dearly.

_"Mama, Papa,_

_I will try to become a more opening, more warm person. I will try._

_"I will have to get aniki back, though. For what he did. And I can't forgive him. You know I can't._

_But I will try to be a good person._

_I won't become the best at this thing I attempt, like I usually do. I won't become the best like some other naturally open, friendly people. It'll be hard work. But I'll try._

_I will keep to this resolution. I will. For you, Mama, Papa._

_Your son, Uchiha Sasuke"_

xXxXx

**A/N: ...more wtf material for you to read. Written from 4:30 PM to 8:30 PM, 11/2/07, minus 2 hours in which I didn't do any work on this, makes... 2 hours on this steaming pile of crap. It was sudden, unnatural, and stuff, but no flames. Only explanations on how to make it BETTER. Please.**

**But I got past the 800-word block, I think! Maybe even 1000 words? IDK, I haven't submitted it yet. But if I did, w00t in advance. I dream of passing 1000 words. Yahoo.**

**  
I hope you didn't die reading this. -MewxRetasu**


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